Reese Halston-Vale | RW 13 | Sep 17, 18

Reese woke up the next morning to the sun streaming in the window, the other bed unoccupied, his things a mess on the floor. As he vaguely became more aware of his surroundings, he noticed the shower door was shut and the water was running. That gave him enough time to make his bed and unpack his things neatly in the bureau, leaving out his soft cable-knit sweater and slacks for walk-ins. He was feeling rather fatigued and had woken up drenched in his own sweat, which was odd, considering it'd been chilly in Kiev and he hadn't been overdressed.

When Elliot emerged from the shower, hair wet and dressed in his walk-in outfit, Reese realized they must’ve slept later than intended. He hadn’t really planned to get a workout in that morning considering it was a game day, and with how he’d been feeling since the two flashes and the intermittent return of symptoms, he really just wanted to rest. He slept better on the road knowing that Elliot was there and there would be a witness if something happened to him. Plus, the company was sort-of nice.

He hadn’t even packed his golf-clubs or his chess board. He had bigger fish to fry between the interaction with Élodie and his fluctuating physical state. He felt like he was floating in space and there was nothing to grab onto, and all the golf, chess, and tennis in the world wouldn’t fix his problems or the larger-scale problems of the team. He showered quickly, feeling so winded and lightheaded that he stumbled and caught himself on the shower wall once or twice before calling it quits and going about the rest of his morning routine. He avoided looking in the mirror because he couldn’t stand to see the state of his body, tattered and not healing. He’d need another injection from Lars soon, or someone, if he couldn’t convince him.

Smoothly maneuvering around Elliot in the hotel kitchen like they’d been doing it forever, Reese poured himself the leftover black coffee that his roommate had left out while the Swede ordered room service for the two of them. He took a sip of coffee, made a face, swirled it around as if it would change something dramatically, then decided he was delaying the inevitable for too long. “I suppose we should talk.”

Once he had the blond’s full attention and their breakfast was in front of them, Reese began, “"Élodie called me in yesterday, she was acting really strange, saying I wasn't failing the evaluations for individual performance but because of team dynamics. Which, whoever told her that, fuck them. But she said I wasn't ready yet, was really focused on you. Saying weird stuff about the body remembering what the mind doesn't, to let it happen, whatever it is, said to watch what changes in me around you."

There were other things she said, too, that he wasn't willing to repeat. He passed him the document. "Your dads name is on this, so is hers. Those are my initials, but I have no idea who AK is. Thought maybe you would know something."

Elliot looked confused, which, fair enough. Reese was sure he had made the same face when the psychologist had told it to him the day prior. For someone who was supposedly an expert in the field of psychology, she was fucking nuts.

"You visited Élodie yesterday, and she told you all of this?" Reese could’ve nodded, but it wouldn’t have done much. Elliot was clearly having some sort of moment about this document, which was the desired result. The brunet ignored the guilty pang in his chest at making his teammate anxious on a game day.

"I mean, she evaded most of it," Reese replied.

"So, I think I might have an answer to your question. William Hawthorne is not my name. Well, it is, it's my legal name but my birth name was Andres Kuus, AK. If it has something to do with Lars, I'm assuming that it's my name on the file as well." He gazed down at it, confused as to what it all meant.

"Andres," he parroted, letting the name roll around on his tongue. He studied the blond in a discriminatory way, as if evaluating whether or not he looked like an Andres. He got lost in it for a moment, then rapidly resumed a logical approach. "Do you know anything about this? She kept saying shit about memory and remembering, but I don’t. And I don't know what the hell any of this means, either."

"I unfortunately don't remember anything." If his face was anything to go by, he had some sort of revelation, which was then voiced: "You remember that drawing in the box? I had a dream about it, but I don't know if it was a memory or something that was made up from seeing that drawing. I did however spend a lot of time in Lars' lab when I was young." His green eyes shot around the room, willing to look everywhere but at Reese. For one moment, Reese became jealous and bitter and wished he could catch the man’s gaze.

"As an experiment or a bystander?" Reeses cynicism was thinly veiled. He'd spent a lot of time with Lars, and he was sure that the man didn't treat his son any differently than his other creations. Then, as an afterthought, "But, like, you don't remember me, right? I mean, I know we knew of each other growing up, but you always stayed the hell away from me like I was contagious or something. Like that year in All Stars where you made them put you on someone else's team, or how you went back to Swedish league to avoid coming to Everton after I committed." He didn't know why he was bringing up old drama, it wasn't even really drama, but it was something. Maybe while they were all being open and honest, he would take some accountability for those times. "I'm surprised you didn't withdraw from the draft when they called my name," he teased, though there was a bitterness behind it.

"Uhh, both? I don't remember much aside from a few snippets here and there. I do remember there being one boy my age, but I'm not sure if he was a coworker's child.”

Then, "I was aware of who you were, but Lars has always warned me against talking to you. I got into my head that there was something wrong and so I avoided you with his persuasion. I never disliked you, but when Lars gets something into his head, it's best to do as he says. Honestly, there was always a threat with Lars if I didn't do what he said, so it wasn't really my choice. I'm sorry about that. I mean, you are clearly harmless. Do you remember anything like a lab from your childhood?"

"No, not particularly, but I was in and out of hospitals and labs and things often as a child. There are a lot of gaps in my memory from various things, but I feel like I would remember if I was," he glanced down at the paper, "exhibiting bioaffinitive resonance, among other things. I mean, if this is about us, it sounds like we were deeply attached to each other. But none of this even feels familiar, it's like I have amnesia or something."

"Surely we can't be too tied together, we've lived thus far without contact.”

Reese was preparing to reply when a few of the guys came knocking on the door, telling them the team bus would be by to pick them up in fifteen minutes. It was a 17:15 puck drop, so they’d have time to come back and pack their things before returning back to Verimont in the evening. In theory, they could’ve spent the night in Kiev and traveled back in the morning, but Luca was pushing them to get back to fit in a team practice on home ice before the last preseason game. Considering they were 0-4 so far, Reese agreed with Luca, they needed to leave preseason with a win.

Reese, deciding not to be purposefully vague and mysterious for once, took a seat beside Elliot on the bus. He was feeling faint again, and had started to develop some sort of cough. In the back of his mind, the thought lingered that he hadn’t been taking his medications, and if he had actually gotten sick, he’d die. Surely it wasn’t that, though, was it? He had barely been around anyone in the past few days, and Elliot clearly hadn’t been sick. He didn’t know what it felt like to be sick, and he was too afraid to ask, so he kept his mouth shut and told the guys he was fine when they sporadically noticed he wasn’t paying attention to the conversation, or looked gaunt and feverish and generally unwell.

The game was a disaster, as usual, but perhaps worse than any of the others. Reese was so weak and ended even the shortest shifts gasping for air until Luca pulled him out of the game in the middle of the second. He hadn’t had much ice time, and even when he did, he wasn’t contributing. He wasn’t yelling at anyone, he wasn’t asking anyone to give more than they had to give, he was sitting in his stall like a shell of himself, dripping with sweat despite barely touching the ice at all. He didn’t know what the score was, didn’t ask. He had a splitting headache that was so bad he vomited twice, once on the bench and once during the first intermission while Matty gave another lukewarm, half-hearted speech. When anyone asked, he gave an unconvincing word or two about being fine, although he was allowing panic and distress to eat him alive on the inside. He was definitely sick, which meant he was definitely dying.

It took him almost the entire third period to manage a shower on his own, grateful for the privacy and isolation from his teammates. He was trying to earn respect, not pity, and with the way things were trending, that would have been impossible. He’d fought to undress himself in the shower and must’ve passed out at one point from the weakness of his muscles and the effort, because he came to with cold water streaming down his face, gasping for breath, his fingers turning blue. He crawled from the shower back to the room, feeling lucky that the equipment managers and various other staff were nowhere to be seen for that display of calamity. He got his sweater back on but struggled with his slacks, opting for the gym shorts that were in his bag instead. He’d fallen asleep from the exhaustion and hadn’t woken up again until Elliot nudged him awake, his hand pressed to Reese’s side. He probably said something about getting him home or asking if Reese was okay, to which Reese did nothing to alleviate worry. He kept a very delirious, confused look on his face, nodded, and said, “I’m fine,” even though he clearly wasn’t. He didn’t think he’d have the effort to make it the twenty or so steps from the room to the bus, but then Elliot was offering him a hand, and he took it and let the touch linger, and he felt slightly better. That was something.

He was once again wheezing by the time he made it to the bus, and it took three concerned guys to get him up the stairs on the bus and into a seat. He was clearly not getting enough oxygen, and he heard one of the guys say something about his lips being blue and getting him to a hospital. He was pressed up against Elliot limply, his arm wrapped around Reese’s waist to keep him from falling into the aisle when the bus started moving, the Canadian’s forearm firmly making contact with the Swede’s fingers at Reese’s side. He was too weak to say anything, grateful that Matias stepped in with a gruff, “no hospital, let him ride it out,” which many of the guys disagreed with but barely voiced, if at all. He must’ve fallen asleep against the warmth of Elliot’s side because he woke up, sweating and shivering, Jasper and René standing over him, commenting about how he seemed to be breathing better and had the color back in his face. Someone asked if they knew what was wrong, and no one could answer. He heard the warm, grounding tone of Elliot’s voice droning in and out as he fought to pay attention to the conversation and failed.

Before he knew it, a pair of strong arms were lifting him up. Maybe multiple. He saw Elliot’s concerned expression in front of him from beneath heavy eyelids, which he was struggling to keep open. He tried and failed to keep his balance, wobbling around and ultimately never feeling the loss of strength from Elliot’s grasp. It was true he was feeling better. He was calmer, breathing more normally, but exhausted. He couldn’t stay awake if he wanted to. It was like all of his worries had gone out the window, leaving nothing for him to fixate on and elevate his anxiety, and thus, energy levels.

Finally, he got the strength to walk, though it was clearly not without help. Elliot was beside him the entire way, Nicola close behind, his loud, musical, blunt way of speaking making it clear to Reese that he was still there every so often. He made a comment in broken English about how stupid Reese was for trying to play hockey while sick, and that he would be better with rest. All Reese did was glare and tighten his grip on Elliot’s waist, too sleepy or dazed or delirious to form sentences. He focused all of his concentration on walking, breath heavy again but not to the levels it was before, brain completely mush. He didn’t even register where he was until he was placed gently on the bed, Elliot still saying something in his charming accent, probably more to calm himself than to communicate with Reese. He just hummed in acknowledgement every now and again, probably in an ill-timed manner, half-asleep as it was.

It wasn’t until he woke up a while later, Elliot standing over him with a phone in his hand, that he registered how much worse he had gotten. He couldn’t breathe at all, he couldn’t move, he was shaking and shivering and covered in sweat once more, and he barely felt connected to his body. His sweater had been pulled off, probably by Elliot, which bothered him, somewhere in the part of his mind that was capable of thinking clearly. He was covered in bruises and scratches and scars that wouldn’t heal. He didn’t want anyone seeing that, let alone Elliot. But it wasn’t like he had any choice.

He didn’t remember much of the evening’s events beyond being lifted into a stretcher, trying to search for Elliot’s voice in his half-conscious state and the flurry of activity beyond his closed eyes, and trying to focus long enough to catch any of what was being said. Unfortunately, it was primarily said in languages he did not comprehend, although there must have been someone there who did not speak their language because every once in a while he could pick out words. Idiopathic. Fatal. We’re losing him. He’s going to die if…

Sleepy and delirious, Reese opened his eyes slowly to find a figure sitting across from him, long-legged and hardly awake. He stretched slowly, feeling horrible and hardly able to keep his eyes open to identify the figure. He didn’t feel much better, but he could breathe now, and his temperature seemed to have returned to something liveable.

"Nice to see I'm not turning blue anymore," he mumbled, speech slurred, keeping his eyes closed as much as possible. His headache was horrible and trying to conceive a thought or maintain vision wasn’t helping things.

"Did you have a nice nap?" The voice was warm. Calm. Something he knew wasn’t threatening, even if he couldn’t place it at that exact moment. "Blue?"

Reese let out a soft sigh and opened his eyes, briefly identifying that the figure with him was Elliot as he became more lucid. He gave a gentle, genuine smile, rolling his eyes at the figure before him. "I'm assuming it's because they've got me on oxygen, dumbass," he wheezed, "But you would know better than me."

He took a moment to catch his breath, keeping his eyes shut again. "I don't feel any better," he said, pained. They had done nothing but run tests and try treatments to keep him alive, despite not knowing what he was ailing from. At least, based on what he remembered, and the feeling of frustration everyone seemed to have toward him other than the calming presence across the room. "Should I be calling the competence of these doctors into question?"

"Stop acting like you are dying. The doctors are idiots but at least they are trying?"

"I'm pretty sure I am. That's what the various alarm tones mean, no?" Then, less fearfully, "you're here. Did you miss the bus or something?" Of course, in Reese's mind, there was no chance someone actually wanted to be with him, caring for him, sharing space with him. It was a joke, but it wasn't. It was a question of motive at a time when he was vulnerable and susceptible to harm.

"I am here because I requested to stay behind with you. I don't bring much to the team so I might as well make sure that you are doing alright. You seemed so off that I couldn't leave you behind in a strange place alone. I tried to visit you when you were in the medical center in Verimont, but for whatever reason I was on a blacklist? I suppose that I couldn't let my favorite roomie sit alone in some bright white room, what kind of person would I be?"

Off was the understatement of the century. But, Elliot had eyes. He must've been minimizing for his own sake, or maybe Reese’s. He allowed him to. "If you ever use the word roomie in front of me again, I'll find a way to get you blacklisted a second time." Then, more defensively, "I suppose it is boring in Verimont, not like you had anything better to do."

“Understandable. Verimont isn't boring, and there were better things for me to do, but seeing you laying on the ice unconscious struck a nerve." There were a lot of big feelings behind this, and underlying sentiments Reese didn’t have the energy or strength to unpack. Elliot was laying it out on the table that caring for Reese was a conscious choice, one he’d made when there were alternatives on the table. Inconceivable, and frankly, too complicated for Reese to comprehend at that moment. So he left it alone.

Feeling tired once more, Reese squeezed his eyes shut, squirming and shifting and afraid of Elliot's reaction before he’d even gotten the words out. "You might injure yourself trying to sleep in that chair, and this bed’s big enough for both of us. I'd love to give your dad more reasons to be pissed off at me, but it's your choice."

Of course, he was lying. The bed was rather small for one full-sized hockey player, let alone two. But, Reese didn't know how to ask for what he needed, and he immediately hated himself for even trying to ask, even trying to be vulnerable enough to make a request. But, it was out there, and he couldn't take it back. All he could try to do was damage control.

"I, uh, sure." He couldn’t see the man’s face in that moment, but he could picture it. He didn’t like what he saw so he pretended this was some sort of nightmare he could wake up from at will. That wish was gone when the bed dipped and the emptiness he felt was replaced with the warmth of another body pressed against his, the other man’s breathing slow and rhythmic and calming, although Elliot could feel the racing of his heart if he held his own breath long enough.

Barely aware of himself, Reese used his last remaining strength to lift his arm up and wrap it around the Swede’s midsection as opposed to jamming it between their two bodies. “Is this alright,” he murmured sleepily, not needing to raise his voice or enunciate the words too sharply with the man’s face right beside his, the smell of the rink shampoo in his hair a sign of his presence. When Elliot confirmed, Reese let the tension out of his body, a small huff of contentment coming into the air as he held Elliot closer, his fingers warm on the skin of Elliot’s midsection where his shirt rode up from the movement. He was aware of all the places they were touching, but for once in his life, it was grounding. And, like before in the bus, it immediately knocked him out.

The night was long and filled with frequent visits from the medical staff who were hellbent on making Reese’s life a living hell. Every time they came to wake him up to ensure he was okay and to give him medications, Elliot shifted in the bed to try to give them space to work and Reese would subconsciously pull him tighter, making small wounded noises at the absence like it physically hurt to be separated from him. He didn’t remember this the next day, nor the fact that the nurses reported that his vitals had stabilized right around the time Elliot got into the bed, the alarms silenced for the first time since he’d been admitted, finally giving him some restful sleep.

He woke up the next morning somehow equally exhausted and well-rested. He could breathe again and he woke up without being drenched in sweat for the first time in several days. No headache, no muscle pain, no faintness. Just a vague sense of exhaustion like he’d run a marathon, and no explanation for how everything that had been wrong with his body the night before had miraculously resolved itself in the span of a few hours.

The sun filtered in through the window, casting light on the floor. Elliot woke up annoyed with a headache from the light coming through the window.The thin white comforter and sheets weren’t enough to keep the light out of his eyes, even with them pulled up over his head. For the first time in forever it seemed that his blankets were intact from the night. Normally they were spread among the room when he woke up every morning. He got up to close the curtains so that Reese could sleep longer. He was careful to make sure that he was quiet as he brewed coffee and shuffled through his clothes for the day. He ran a hand through his hair. Maybe it was time to go back to his natural color, black was too depressing. The coffee brewer beeped and he excitedly stood up to go and collect a cup. He preferred his coffee black, it was simpler on the road rather than always needing some sort of creamer. He took a sip of the liquid and smiled. That would set his morning right. The next thing on his list to do was to take a shower. He could smell himself which was never a good sign. Elliot could hear Reese moving around the room as he shaved in the mirror. He paused for a moment to listen, it sounded like he was unpacking.

When he emerged from the bathroom his hair was still wet, dripping down his back and getting his shirt wet. He stopped to hang up his black overcoat by the door to not forget it before buttoning up the last three buttons on his white dress shirt. He stopped in the hall, his hands still fumbling with the buttons to watch Reese. Something was off, but that wasn’t his business. His eyes trailed over to see the other man’s belongings unpacked. Elliot wasn’t sure why Reese would do that since he’d just need to pack them up again.

He was silent as Reese passed to the shower, giving him a small nod. Elliot sat on his bed and adjusted the watch on his wrist. There was enough time to eat, and Reese looked like he could use a good meal. He was sitting on the edge of his bed reading his book when he heard commotion from the bathroom. He stood up, the book forgotten on his bed, looking towards the door, waiting for a voice. When it didn’t come Elliot decided that if the man didn’t come out in fifteen minutes he’d check on him, but he didn’t need to in the end. Once Reese was out of the shower Elliot went to the phone, looking over at the Canadian, “What can I get you to eat?” He asked, perching on the counter. He wasn’t sure if he could eat with the pit in his stomach from the idea of the game coming within the next few hours. He watched him swirl his coffee, “Do you want me to order you some cream for that?” He asked before dialing room service. “I suppose we should talk.” Elliot’s head whipped around to stare at him, fear striking his eyes. “About..?” His tone was calm but it was clear that he was concerned. Had he left his towel on the floor and Reese had tripped on it? He could have sworn that he left it on the counter.

“Hold that thought.” He said, going to answer the door with a smile and a polite ‘thank you.’ as he accepted their food. He sat down across from Reese, his gaze directed towards Reese, staring at him, waiting. Elodie… This wasn’t about his towel. Team dynamics. It wasn’t like Reese was horrible nor bossy to his teammates, he was passionate and that was what this team needed was someone to boot them in the ass and get them going. What did she mean about the last sentence? What changes in Reese around Elliot? He bit his lower lip. Elliot looked at Reese confused. "You visited Élodie yesterday, and she told you all of this?" He asked, repeating the first half back. He paused, his body freezing as he gazed down at the document's. His breath caught in his throat and his heart stopped. "AK..." He whispered, a distant look on his face. "So," He paused, "I think I might have an answer to your question." He whispered, taking a seat on his bed. "William Hawthorne is not my name. Well, it is, it's my legal name but my birth name was Andres Kuus, AK. If it has something to do with Lars, I'm assuming that it's my name on the file as well." He gazed down at it, confused as to what it all meant. Elliot wasn’t sure if it was a good or bad thing that Reese had repeated his birth name back to him. His name had changed before he’d gotten attached to it so it was odd to hear it out of the man's mouth. He however did admit to himself that it rolled off of Reese’s tongue nicely. He watched Reese as he got lost in his thoughts before watching him come back to the conversation.Elliot sighed. "I unfortunately don't remember anything." All of a sudden he had a thought. "You remember that drawing in the box?" He asked Reese, "I had a dream about it, but I don't know if it was a memory or something that was made up from seeing that drawing. I did however spend a lot of time in Lars lab when I was young." His eyes moved around the room as he tried to recall any memories. His gaze quieted as he returned it back to Reese. "Uhh, both? I don't remember much aside from a few snippets here and there. I do remember there being one boy my age, but I'm not sure if he was a coworker's child." He said with a shrug. Elliot listened quietly, waiting for Reese to finish. "I was aware of who you were, but Lars has always warned me against talking to you. I got into my head that there was something wrong and so I avoided you with his persuasion. I never disliked you, but..." He paused for a moment, "when Lars gets something into his head, it's best to do as he says." Elliot had been the child that never put a foot out of line. He'd been praised for his cooperation as a child. "Honestly, there was always a threat with Lars if I didn't do what he said, so it wasn't really my choice." He chuckled and rubbed his neck. "I'm sorry about that. I mean, you are clearly harmless." He teased. "Do you remember anything like a lab from your childhood?" He felt rather bad now reflecting on the past for the cold shoulder he’d always given Reese and now he was the most comfortable with him than any other teammate.

He nodded along to Reese’s answers before turning to look at the door as someone interrupted them. He wouldn’t kid himself but he was disappointed that someone put an end to their conversation. Just the thought of yet another flight back to Viremontand a practice was killing his head, but it had to be done. He had a sad, distant look on his face as he stared down at the carpet, nodding to let the teammates know that he’d heard them. It was true, preseason games weren’t going so hot, but it wasn’t the worst, they’d have a few goals.

-

Elliot gave Reese a smile as the young man took a seat next to him. “Fancy meeting you here.” He teased, worry flashing over his face as the man didn’t have a sarcastic response for him. He could see the sweat building up in his hairline, but that wasn’t his business. Elliot didn’t take part in conversations but he was listening in on them, but it was odd to him that Reese didn’t have something motivational to say. He’d glance over at him, just to check in on him and it did seem as if he was coming down with a cold from the way that he almost seemed to purr with each breath and the small coughs that he sparsely did. No one else on the team showed symptoms so had he contracted it elsewhere? He knew that your immune system tended to do poorly when traveling and being under stress.

Elliot watched Reese in the locker room from a different bench, checking in with him frequently just to make sure he was drinking enough water. Even more of a surprise to him that Reese wasn’t playing. He was distracted on the ice, and silent. It was Matias that was yelling commands out at everyone rather than Reese, and unlike the Canadian, Matias didn’t have anything to say that boosted their mood. Elliot stepped off the ice after a shift to see Reese sitting alone pale. He gave Luka a worried look. “I think that he needs a doctor.” He said softly to the coach. The man looked over his shoulder at the man and shook his head. “Nah, he’ll get over it.” Those words shook Elliot to his core. He’d get over it? He looked at Luka, anger clearly showing on his face, “Tell that to the vomit by the benches.” He spat at him angrily. Elliot glared at the man as he took a seat, not bothering to watch the team, instead he focused on Luka, his face scrunched in a displeased glare, his normally warm green eyes wishing death upon the man in front of him. Elliot didn’t even listen to Matias anymore, and instead was watching Reese as he shuffled off towards the bathrooms. “I still think we need a doctor.” He snipped at Luke before going to join the team for the third period.

He managed to assist in one goal but the rest of the game was poor. He got off at the end of the game with tears brimming in his eyes, frustrated at his own skating ability. He sat on the bench as the zamboni went around the rink, his elbows on his knees and his clasped hands dangling between his legs. Tears streaked his face as he sniffled his nose. Elliot hated to cry in public places, but everyone had really left the stadium by this point.

He finally got up and headed to the bathroom to splash water on his face before he was to join the rest of the team. He stepped into the room, his eyes zeroing in on Reese slumped against the wall. He wasn’t well. “AHH!” He said angrily as he rushed over to check on him. Why wouldn’t Luka listen to him, Reese was so clearly unwell. “Hey, hey.” He said, nudging Reese’s shoulder with his left hand, the right one resting on his side trying to turn him over in case he’d passed out from a seizure. It was a dumb question to ask, but he found himself asking the man anyways. “Are you alright?” He asked, his voice ringing with urgency. He wanted to laugh out loud at the “I’m fine.” But it wasn’t the time to fight him on it. “Let’s get you up.” Elliot said softly as he took the man’s hand and hauled him up. Elliot let Reese walk alone, but he was just one pace behind him in case he went down he could catch him.

It was even worse when not just Elliot but two others needed to help Reese into the bus. Elliot glared down at Luka as he supported him down the aisle. “He’ll get over it, huh?” He asked Luka as he passed, clearly pissed at the man. The man’s lips turning blue was another concern to Elliot. Lips weren’t supposed to do that. Elliot went into the row first, taking his seat before Reese took his. The man went limp, and as the bus jolted forwards it was clear that he wasn’t really able to keep himself in the seat from the way he went soaring towards the aisle. Panic flashed through Elliot as he blindly reached out to grab Reese’s forearm and pull him back into his seat. “Stay there.” He told Reese softly as he wrapped his arm around the man's waist, pulling him in towards Elliot and holding him in place. “Fuck you Matias!” He said, “I’m going to break your arm and make you ride it out, would you like that?” He challenged the man. The Finn stared down at him, clearly surprised by Elliot’s outburst. He nodded slowly and looked away. It was rare that Elliot was anything but polite to those around him, but every once in a while he’d get an explosive temper when no one was listening to him.

The bus slowed to a stop at the hotel, he’d spent the ride with Reese’s head on his shoulder, trying to not move to disturb the man’s sleep. Elliot had dozed off as well, his head resting against his seat. He woke up when he heard voices above him. “He looks better?” Jasper asked Rene, both of whom stood over them. He shrugged at the two, lost for words as he gazed down at Reese. “It’s alright Reese, let’s get you to bed.” He said softly, standing up and gently pulling the man up to his feet. Reese was wobbly on his feet, but he still managed to walk a bit on his own. The Canadian had a group around him as they entered the hotel. Nicola walked behind them as Reese clung to Elliot, not that he minded. “It’s the coach's fault.” Elliot responded coldly to Italian. It was clear to Elliot that Reese hadn’t liked Nicola’s statement from the way his grip tightened on his waist.

As Elliot stopped outside of the hotel room to dig through his back pocket for his room key he turned to Nicola with a warm smile. “Thank you, truely.” He said softly, giving the man a kind look. “Can you take it from here?” The older man asked. Elliot gave him a small nod. “Yes.” He unlocked the door and brought Reese in, grateful for the automatic closing doors. He laid him on the bed. “Would it be alright if I removed your shoes and clothes?” He asked the man. He got a delayed mm which he took as a yes. Elliot started to untie his shoes, and fought them until they were removed from his foot. He then gently pulled off his sweater. He went to the bathroom to fetch a cool, wet cloth and placed it on the man's forehead.

He’d sat in bed reading when gasping from the other bed caught his attention. He put his book down, not even bothering to save his place. “Shit.” He said to himself, looking around the room for his mobile. His hands shook as he called the emergency line. Luka would be mad at him, but Luka could piss off. Reese’s life was at risk and he wasn’t going to juggle with it. “Hello? Hi.” He explained the situation and gave them an address and room number. He waited patiently by the door, his heart racing as he heard sirens approaching. As they wheeled Reese out he caught the glower of Luka and Matias in the hallway. He glanced at them, holding their stern looks with a disappointed one of his own with a small shake of his head.

Elliot camped out in the waiting room while they stabilized Reese. Elliot was still in his white shirt and black slacks. His shoes were scuffed up from helping Reese into bed, but that would come out. He silently watched Luka enter the room. “Hawthorne.” The coach said. Ah. Last name biases, he was in trouble. “The bus is leaving.” Elliot shook his head. “I’m not going Coach.” He said firmly setting the boundary. “I refuse to leave him here alone while he could be dying.” Luka looked annoyed as he too shook his head. “Get on the fucking bus William.” Elliot held his gaze, his head tilting to the left. “No.” He said again. “I will not fucking leave him here alone.” Luka sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. “Alright, if that’s how it’s going to be.” He said shortly before turning on his heel and walking away. Elliot watched him leave, fear striking him. He was going to get kicked off the team. Part of his mind screamed for Elliot to chase after him, to get on the bus and behave, but as he glanced down the hallway towards Reese’s room, he couldn’t move. His head dropped to his chest as he stared at the tile floor, chewing his cheek.

“Hello? Sir?” He looked up at the nurse that hugged the clipboard to her chest. “Your friend is ready for visitors.” His heart fluttered as he stood up to follow her. His heart sank upon seeing Reese hooked up to so many machines. He gave the nurse a sad smile and took a seat across from him. He gently picked up his hand, grasping it for a moment, careful to not remove the IV. “Oh Reese.” He whispered, gently placing his hand back at his side.

Out of the corner of his eye Elliot saw movement. His head lifted and his eyes brightened as he saw Reese moving around. He chuckled, a smile on his face as he stared at the man. Knowing that he was stable was far better than being on a flight back home. He’d deal with the repercussions later. “Did you have a nice nap?”He teased him as he sat across from the man in the hospital bed. "Blue?" Elliot questioned the clearly loopy Reese, his eyebrow raised before he chuckled, his gaze kind as he held his wavering gaze. Elliot gazed at the man hooked up to machines in front of him. It felt odd to see another human hooked up in that manner because normally it was him. "Stop acting like you are dying." He teased, but the thought put a pit in his stomach. "The doctors are idiots but at least they are trying?" Were they trying though? No one had an answer to the question of what was wrong with Reese. It worried him. “Did you miss the bus or something?” Reese asked him. Elliot’s smile faded for a moment, doubt ringing through his head, did Reese not want him here? Should he have gotten onto the bus? "I am here because I requested to stay behind with you. I don't bring much to the team so I might as well make sure that you are doing alright." He hesitated, "you seemed so off that I couldn't leave you behind in a strange place alone." He glanced out the window, "I tried to visit you when you were in the medical center in Viremont, but for whatever reason I was on a blacklist?" He questioned, shaking his head. "I suppose that I couldn't let my favorite roomie sit alone in some bright white room, what kind of person would I be?" He teased. The flash of horror that came across Reese’s face made the stand off with Luka worth it. When he was told off his smile broaded even more. "Understandable." He said, smiling at him. "Viremont isn't boring." He corrected him, "And there were better things for me to do, but seeing you laying on the ice unconscious struck a nerve." His hand subconsciously traced the scar running through his left eye. He knew what it was like to sit in the hospital bed with no one checking in on him after an accident.

Reese went silent, seeming to adjust himself into the uncomfortable bed. “You might injure yourself trying to sleep in that chair, and this bed’s big enough for both of us. I’d love to give your dad more reason to be pissed off at me, but it’s your choice.” Elliot stared at the man for a moment, stunned. Had he just asked that? Elliot gave him a small smile. "I, uh, sure." Reese made the bed look small, but who would he be if he rejected the dying man's wish? He got up and slowly made his way towards the bed. He hesitated, watching Reese’s breathing for a moment. Since he was spending the night here, he might as well have a bed to sleep in. He knew that Luka wouldn’t allow the team to pay for a hotel room and even then Elliot wouldn’t leave the room anyways. He took a deep breath and laid down next to Reese, trying to minimize himself to give the sick man the most room that he could. Something dug into his spine but Elliot didn’t care. His heart raced as he laid there next to him, trying to steady his breath to a collected manner. He wasn’t sure where to look, so he studied the man that laid next to him’s face. It was pale, but at least his breathing was better. Elliot felt his arm on him followed by a muted “Is this alright?” Elliot answered with a small “Yeah.” Before going quiet again. Elliot’s first reaction was to curl away from Reese’s touch, but he didn’t. He stayed perfectly still, trying to not disturb him or remove the IV. It didn’t take long for Reese to pass out as Elliot had noted.

Whenever a nurse would come in Elliot would sit up and move over to give them room, and every time without fail he would apologize immensely for being in the way. The nurses in turn gave him a smile and told him that he indeed was not a bother, which didn’t make him feel any better. Reese gripped Elliot’s finger as he fought the man pulling him closer. “That’s odd.” One nurse said to another, looking down at Reese’s chart. Elliot’s heart rate spiked. Perhaps he’d need to be hooked up in the next room over with a heart monitor if they continued to do that. Both nurses looked back at the pair and silently left the room. “Oh. I don’t think that’s good.” He told himself. As it turned out, it was good.

Elliot finally gave up on trying to sleep at six AM, and he just laid there counting to a hundred over and over again while looking at the ceiling. He sat up when the nurses came in. These were new ones, so the shifts must have changed. “Good morning.” He said softly, trying to not wake Reese. “We will take care of him if you want to head down to the cafe for food.” He nodded and slid out of the bed, glancing back at Reese as the man’s hand slipped from his forearm. I’m sorry Reese. He thought to himself as he left the room. His neck was sore from sleeping in an odd position, but it was worth it to hear that Reese was on the road to recovery.

He stood in the elevator with a woman who looked as tired as he felt. They didn’t say a word, just simply stared ahead. The hospital was a depressing place to be, but at least the cafe was nice. Elliot had ordered just a cup of coffee but stopped by the gift shop on his way up to get Reese flowers. He realized that he wasn’t sure what kind of flowers that Reese would like. He picked up a yellow cup with a smiley face on it and white daisies. These would do. He paid for it and went back up to the room. As he closed the door behind him he turned to see Reese up. He gave him a warm smile, "Hej sömntuta." He said in his native tongue. "I'd offer you some," He said, holding up the to-go cup of coffee, "But the nurses have forbade me of doing so." He took a seat next to Reese, back on the metal chair, "How do you feel this morning?" He asked, standing in the doorway. Was that a small smile on the Canadian’s face that he saw? "God forbid I corrupt you into doing something illegal," he replied, bringing back the previous conversation in Munich. "I suppose if I tried to acquire some by nefarious means you'd have to citizens arrest me?" Reese paused, "I feel fine. Tired, but fine. Ready to go back to Viremont and lose another game of hockey tomorrow despite doing everything in my ability not to." Elliot pouted at him. "My record is clean, and I'd like to keep it that way." He rolled his eyes with a huff, "To be fair, you didn't hear the whole story. He had taken an old lady's purse, and I simply just tied him up until the polisen got there to arrest him."

He sat across from him, his cup still in his hand, leaning towards the man, "Who said that you are going to be playing tomorrow?" He asked, his eyebrow raised at him, "I don't think you should." He said honestly. There was a dangerous glint in Reese's eyes that Elliot chose to ignore. "I think a St. William has already been canonized, I don't know what it is you’re aspiring to." Then, with the slightest smile, "entertaining as hell to watch, though." Elliot waited for the man to finish his sentence after he’d sat up. "Who said Ill be playing? I did," he replied easily, with force. "Everyone seems to find it hard to believe that its possible to conduct oneself with a bit of ambition around here. Now would you hand me my clothes so I can get dressed and we can get on a flight back to Viremont?" "Have the nurses cleared you to go?" He asked, looking at him with a playful smirk as he placed his cup on the floor and stood up to fetch the man his clothes. He picked them up and held them over his head. "Ambition put you in the bed in the first place. Perhaps tone it back a bit?" He said with a wink as he handed him his clothes. That would make me a quitter, despite what some may have you believe." Elliot shook his head. “It wouldn’t make you a quitter, it’d make you smart, but there you are.” He said as he picked up the cup of flowers he’d set down. “I got these for you.” He said with a small smile. “I didn’t know what kind of flowers you liked. I figure they’ll be dead in a few hours anyways.” He said with a shrug.

-

Once Reese was good to go, Elliot called a cab. “To the airport please.” They had tickets in hand by the time they went through the security. Elliot looked around. “It looks so different coming into it than out.” He commented as he stopped to check the board for their flight. “We have time.” He said while nodding his head. “I’m going to find something to eat, but I’ll meet you at the gate.” Elliot said, looking for food near them. “I won’t be long.” He said, waving at Reese as they split up.

Half an hour later Elliot heard his name being called overhead. “Oh no.” He said that wasn’t good. He quickly collected his food and began to frantically run towards the gate, which was on the other side of the airport. He was held up behind a lady and her hoard of children, trying to collect them as they scattered like cats. “Excuse me.” He said, trying to sneak past them. He stepped on one’s foot and he began to cry. “Ah! I am so sorry!” He said before running off.

“I’m here!” He told the desk as he showed her his boarding pass. She nodded and let him in. Elliot was in the middle seat between Reese and a stranger. “I’m sorry Reese.” He said as he sat down and fastened the seatbelt. “I should have stayed with you.” He commented, smiling at the person next to him. “How are you feeling?” He asked, their arms brushing against each other on the arm rest.

Reese Halston-Vale | RW 13 | Sep 18, 19

It wasn’t that Reese had been anxious about leaving without Elliot, but it was relieving to see the familiar figure of the blond maneuvering through traffic on the airplane, more likely than not apologizing for something or another or being annoyingly polite to everyone in a way that was difficult for the Canadian to comprehend. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he had the flowers Reese had given him folded in the pages of a rather large book he had purchased, a dictionary of books that translated from Bokmål to other languages such as English, German, and French. It wasn’t because he wanted to understand the little comments passed between Elliot, Eky, and Ilkka–it wasn’t. He wasn’t jealous that there were words out of Elliot’s mouth that he couldn’t comprehend. It was merely another intellectual pursuit and a way to pass the time while stranded on Mont Baron in the middle of nowhere Switzerland for half of his youth, rotting away on an ELC that didn’t guarantee him playing minutes. He could already hear his sister nagging him about it if she found out. He missed her, he really should have made more of an effort toward her before their relationship was too doomed to be saved.

He shouldn’t have been so amused by an apology. Everything Elliot did was so proper, so polite, so caring. It amused him, perhaps he would’ve turned out more like Elliot in another life. Instead, he found himself the polar opposite, fighting the urge to stick out his foot in the aisle and trip the various passer-byers, especially those who glanced at Reese like they recognized him but couldn’t figure out where they had seen him from. He wasn’t famous in Europe yet like he had become in North America, although he was definitely more than known in Switzerland due to his family ties and unpursued nepotism. He felt sore and still exhausted, and it was taking a toll on his already low tolerance for social interaction. The aisle seat made it worse, although he had already made the selfish decision to stick Elliot between himself and the man at the window seat who’d barely grumbled two words to Reese when he got in. He wanted to shrink into his gray hoodie and stay hidden there forever, but it was a futile thought when the woman across the aisle asked if he played hockey. He denied it, but she didn’t seem convinced. Regardless, he must’ve given off the distinct impression he did not want to be bothered further by questions, and remained in a tense state, tapping his leg anxiously as he stared at the entrance. He didn’t loosen his demeanor at all until Elliot came, and even then, the rigid stance only eased the slightest bit. Finding him was one less thing to worry about, but it didn’t relieve any of the annoyances of being trapped with a bunch of strangers when he already felt like hell.

“For legal reasons, I’m feeling the best I’ve ever felt,” Reese retorted dryly, shifting himself to relieve the soreness in his shoulder and accidentally bumping Elliot’s forearm. “Ready to play the world’s shortest ice time for the nth consecutive game.” It was a dig at himself, humor that disguised the pain and resentment of whatever the hell Luca thought he was doing. Elliot didn’t seem to want to play the minutes he was getting, and Reese did. Why didn’t he switch them?

Focusing on whatever annoyance was most readily available to Reese was the best coping strategy he could think of to avoid thinking about the night before. The warmth of having someone in his bed, the feeling of his fingers on the skin around Elliot’s midsection, the comfort of someone else’s breathing lulling him into the only restful sleep he’d gotten since before the draft was too much to ponder. If he thought about it too long, he crawled out of his skin. It wasn’t that he hadn’t had a plethora of people in his bed–prestigious, good-looking people–it was just that they weren’t usually teammates. When it was a teammate, it never ended well.

However, it was hard to stop that train of thought when not twenty minutes into the flight, Elliot’s body drifted sideways, toward Reese, his body contorted so his head missed Reese’s shoulder and instead rested somewhere in the warmth of his chest. It didn’t seem like a comfortable position, but Elliot was tired and calm and it wasn’t like Reese was man enough to move him anyway. He just attempted not to squirm under the pressure of his building anxiety, once again reminded of the night prior and all the places they were touching and the growing closeness between the two of them that was coming dangerously close to fondness on Reese’s behalf. He couldn’t let himself succumb to his teammate’s charming accent and motherly demeanor and unique mannerisms which Reese already had mapped out by now. He couldn’t. It never ends well with teammates.

But, he hadn’t done anything to create this, and he wasn’t harming anyone by gazing down at the sleeping figure pressed into him, wondering what it might be like to card his fingers through the Swede’s hair. He thought about Andres Kuus and all of the things the documents implied, but to him it couldn’t have been true. If he’d had Elliot pressed up against him in any lifetime, completely limp and trusting despite every reason not to be, he would’ve remembered. The man in the window seat quirked an eyebrow at the scene beside him, at the boy contorted into restful sleep and the one observing him with nothing but fondness and admiration, and the latter quickly regained his stoic expression and scowled at him, staring icy daggers into his figure. Reese could be vulnerable, but no one was allowed to witness it.

By the time the flight landed it was the late afternoon, and both men decided it was much better to grab something in the airport than to eat dinner at the nutrition center if it wasn’t absolutely necessary. Every few minutes, Elliot said something or another, trying to engage in a light conversation with Reese that the Canadian primarily either evaded or ignored, giving a few words in agreement or disagreement here and there without giving the Swede enough to work off of. It wasn’t that he was being intentionally rude, he just didn’t care for small talk and didn’t find it necessary to make an exception for Elliot. He was lost in his head, trying to keep himself from pondering what it meant when the blond called him his favorite roomie or that he’d stayed behind for him. He wasn’t anyone’s favorite anything, especially not when it came to non-hockey related things. Which only begged more questions, about how a guy like Elliot seemed to be drawn like a magnet to someone like Reese. It was too much to get into at a time like this.

Reese was the first one to fall asleep in the car on the way back to Viremont, but he was surprised when he woke up to find that he was slumped into the side of the vehicle in his own bubble, Elliot a welcome intrusion for the second time that day, though he wasn’t willing to get into the complexities of why he felt less anxious with the man’s body weight slumped into him, all warmth, when he usually would’ve scowled and pushed someone off of him if they were touching. He was too tired to care, that was a good enough excuse for the night. He could get into the details at a later date if absolutely necessary, but that was fine for now. He left the vehicle feeling more rested than he had in months.

After an awkward, uncomfortable goodbye, Reese organized and re-organized the few things he’d placed in the room. A crate of books, a chessboard, flowers in a mug from the floor’s kitchen because he didn’t own a vase. He stared at the flowers and then moved them once, twice, three times. He paced until two in the morning. He studied Bokmål and then studied it more. Around four in the morning he slept, and he was back up at eight feeling hardly rested yet again.

“I’m here for my x-ray,” he stated in a sing-song voice as he knocked, staring into the camera above the medical wing. He waited for the door to open, and for either Marguerite or Lars to take him to the back. Lars was there, and he spent longer than usual fumbling around in the back before he returned with the results. Except, he didn’t. He sent Marguerite.

“It seems to have healed nicely,” the young woman said sweetly, seeming shifty and nervous in a way Reese clocked must’ve had something to do with Lars. He glanced down at the copy she handed him and shook his head in disbelief.

“I don’t believe you. Your x-ray machine must be broken. Did Karl watch you take this?”

“Yes, he was there. He seemed surprised himself, actually. It must’ve healed quickly if you’re both so surprised.”

“It’s not possible, take it again.” He shoved it back into her hand. She shook her head.

“We already took it five times. It came out the same every time.”

He grabbed the image back out of her hand and stood up, walking around to the back. Lars was gone, the image of Reese’s healed shoulder up on the screen. It wasn’t long before he gathered his things and went out in pursuit of the Swede, not getting too far down the administrative offices before he found himself being dragged into Angelo Morelli’s office against his will, Luca and Websy sitting across from him.

“You’re healthy scratched today,” Luca stated bluntly.

He expected as much, despite his desire to change things. “Is there anything I can do to change your minds?”

“No,” Luca said. Angelo frowned, and Websy offered a sympathetic smile. Reese found that expression to be the most uncomfortable to stomach.

“Okay,” he replied easily. If he was going to go after Matias’ captaincy, he had to pick his battles wisely. “Is there anything else?”

“How are you feeling,” Weber asked. Reese was saved from having to answer his least favorite question by Morelli, who cut him off with little care for his feelings.

“How are you finding things here?”

This was a battle Reese was willing to take on. “Honestly? Difficult. I’m not getting enough minutes to prove myself and no one is willing to tell me what it will take to get there.”

“There are veterans who are better than you,” Luca quickly interrupted.

“Veterans who don’t want to win,” Reese quickly shot back. “Your captain’s preseason message was about accepting a loss that hadn’t happened yet, and everyone just takes it. No one is willing to stand up to him.”

“Some people treat their captains with respect.”

“Give me a captain that’s worthy of my respect,” he replied to Luca. Then, turning to Angelo, “and trade some of these veterans for players who actually want to win. Nothing is going to change for this franchise if the players themselves aren’t willing to do what it takes to change the culture here.”

“No one wants them,” Angelo replied, “I’ll start making trades if you start making players look desirable to other teams.”

“Done,” Reese replied, “But I can’t do that with no ice time.”

“That can be arranged,” Angelo said, earning a disbelieving look from Luca. This wasn’t the first time they had talked about this particular topic, it seems.

“I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, I hope you hold up yours.”

–

The game was a 3-2 loss in regulation to one of the worst teams in the league, and a loss that could’ve been easily prevented. Reese was a ball of stress in the press box, tightly wound and full of opinions that couldn’t be heard by anyone of importance. Having Elliot healthy scratched with him was a welcome surprise, but one that also filled him with guilt and remorse. It wasn’t his fault that he’d gotten sick, he hadn’t chosen for Elliot to stay behind with him, but it still felt like he was responsible for costing his teammate a game he should’ve been playing in.

To his surprise, however, Elliot didn’t seem at all disappointed by being scratched. In fact, he was in rare form, revealing a goofy side that Reese didn’t know existed and causing him to equally question the Swede’s sanity in that moment and come out of his head a bit, not taking the game so seriously as he had before. By the end of the game, despite the loss, Reese hadn’t even felt that affected by the score. He couldn’t remember the last time that happened for him.

So, naturally, when Elliot asked him to go get dinner at the place in town, Reese agreed to go. They continued to laugh and joke in the same dim lighting they had the day prior, avoiding being spotted by resentful fans by being put in the same dimly-lit back room as last time. Reese didn’t lose the discomfort and uneasiness that the whole thing felt like a date yet again, but this time, he enjoyed himself more. He opened up to Elliot a bit, sharing stories from his days at Everton and recalling impressions of him from their youth hockey days. Maybe it was the day or the horrors of where they were and what they were doing, but Reese felt closer to Elliot than he had expected to, than he had felt since arriving in Switzerland. The person who’d initially annoyed him the most had turned out to be just about the only person he could tolerate on this god awful team.

“I want to show you something,” Reese said as they exited the building and narrowly avoided interactions with anyone with Volt jerseys on. “I need to talk to Élodie about it, but I think you should see it first. Come back to my room with me?”

And, well, as Reese could’ve guessed based on any interaction he’d ever had with Elliot, the Swede complied easily. They got a ride back up to the complex from one of the team transit vehicles, and before he knew it, Elliot was in front of him, suggesting they take the elevator based on the location of Reese’s room. Reese grumbled about the existence of the elevator, but complied. Not long after they entered, the doors jammed shut, the small space moving upward for a brief moment and then stopping and shaking with a jolt. Reese pressed a few buttons before resigning himself to the fact that they were properly stuck, no emergency button on the contraption to speak of.

Still grumbling about the elevator, Reese looked around before realizing, to his surprise, that there were no cameras in the elevator, in perhaps the one place he expected there to be at least one. He prodded at the band around his wrist, attempting to send a message to the group that failed to send multiple times. Apparently, the device that was made to function in this environment was prone to malfunction.

Reese Halston-Vale | RW 13 | Sep 20

Being wedged between two men he hated less than the other men on this team wasn’t ideal, but it still had to be done. Reese had his sights set on being the captain of this team, and unfortunately, that came with some annoying consequences. The most annoying of all wasn’t the massive intrusion into his personal bubble, but the hopeful, innocent smile that Elliot had when he was waking up. That sent Reese into an internal spiral that he struggled to recover from, even as he was being asked questions he didn’t really want to answer.

“I got here when Americans started thinking they’re the center of the universe,” Reese deflected, casting a sideways glance toward Rook’s sleeping frame. The Canadian had his fingers still wrapped loosely around Elliot’s wrist, extremely aware of the tingling, calm feeling in his body and the guilty feeling creeping up as a result of not particularly asking the Swede if it was okay to capitalize on the benefits of touching him which he neither agreed to nor asked for. It was easy to rationalize that Reese hadn’t asked for a body that wouldn’t heal itself and Elliot was too altruistic to leave him with a gaping slice in his palm on a game day. By the time he’d woken up it had reduced from the ugly sight it had been to something that was still raw but scabbed over in a way that gave him hope for his performance in the game.

“Don’t be sorry, just be careful,” Reese murmured in a low tone, not wanting anyone else to catch wind of their conversation. “There are forces at play here that I can’t protect you from, nor can you protect yourself from them.” In the back of Reese’s mind, the image of Elliot looking disheveled and pained was seared into his brain, constantly replaying. He had wanted to hold him, comfort him, do something to show him that the emotion he was displaying was resonating with Reese, but ultimately he’d just said a few worthless words and watched his figure retreat down the hallway for a moment too long. He would’ve vowed to make sure he never saw Elliot look like that again if he thought he had that kind of power, but he was resigned to the fact that he knew that neither of them did.

Before he knew it, Elliot’s hand was tracing his, sending this soothing, sparking feeling up and down his body there. Every time Elliot touched him he felt it in a way he couldn’t explain, something that equally made him want to jerk his hand back and give himself over to the touch completely. It was a foreign concept for someone with the tolerance of a housecat, someone who typically strayed from the touch of people he knew as minimally as he knew Elliot. He pulled his hand away forcefully when he felt Matias staring from across the way, giving the man a glare and then offering an apologetic, slight smile to Elliot. For once, it had actually been nothing personal to him.

“Work hazard,” Reese deflected vaguely, unwilling to provide details. Then, in an even lower tone, “it bled all morning. Didn’t scab over until I put my fingers on your wrist.”

–

They got off the bus into a private parking garage in Zürich that was attached to their hotel. On this trip, to Reese’s surprise, he and Elliot had actually been assigned together. He didn’t question it, but he heard someone else question it, Ilkka or Eky or someone close enough to it to care. He had heard something about Eky being put up with Elliot in Geneva in Reese’s absence, which made sense considering they were the only two Swedes on the team. Eky was likeable, and younger than most of their teammates, and Reese wouldn’t be surprised if Elliot took a liking to him and the pair became the next Matias and Ilkka. He wouldn’t get in the way of that, it’s not like anyone would purposefully choose to spend time with the Reese Halston-Vale without some ulterior motive, and he almost thought to say something and offer to switch before Websy was explaining to whoever it was that their attendance had been requested at some sort of fundraiser the next night and, since Reese’s attendance had been specifically requested, they thought it would be best for PR to send Elliot too and have them both stay behind together. Reese was surprised at this explanation but it caused him to keep his mouth shut and wonder whether his attendance being requested was related to everything he’d been witnessing or to his well-connected family. He didn’t know which one was worse, honestly, and when he asked Elliot about it on the way up to their room, he didn’t know much more than him.

The 17:00 game was hard-fought, at least from Reese’s end. He ended up tallying four assists on four goals in a 5-4 loss, earning him the second star of the game. One of the goals should’ve been his first official TCHL goal but was deemed to have gone off Rookie’s stick net-front, so ultimately he had four points and no goals. There were still things that were making him angry. His size, for one. He wasn’t big enough or muscular enough yet to prevent himself from getting thrown around by some of the guys on other teams. He was allowing turnovers where he could’ve been helping his team if he were bigger and stronger. He needed to keep bulking up so he could be the player he aspired to be.

His teammates were another thing completely. They still had no fight, no desire to win, no willingness to put their bodies on the line. Jasper, René, and Nicola played well if someone made it easy for them to do so, which was something Reese could handle, but the rest of the team was sort-of worthless. Elliot was empathetic to Reese’s cause but seemed to be drowning, and Eky was supposed to be their star defenseman but had failed to show up the past few days. So, when Matias told him to join them for a celebration dinner for the first night of the regular season, he promptly told them there was nothing to celebrate and he would join them for dinners when they started winning games.

Reese had been gone for the better part of two hours, having been forced to interact with his grandparents who cornered him outside of the stadium and forced him to get in their limo to make small talk. He would have rather thrown himself off of Mont Baroneau, quite frankly, but there wasn’t much of a way to get out of it and even if there was, they would’ve retaliated by putting some kind of drama about him in the news. Not that he cared, frankly, but his life was already a living hell. Fans in Viremont booed him for choosing 13 and behaving how he had at the draft, fans elsewhere booed him for the draft and for being good, he was basically doomed to be despised wherever he went. If his family gave them more ammunition, it would only get worse.

By the time he got back to the hotel, he was surprised to find Elliot there too. He’d hung up the suit his grandmother was forcing him to wear–she was the one who had requested his attendance at the fundraiser gala, after all, and it was her fashion house that was hosting it–something lavender and silver and far too gaudy and attention-seeking for his taste. He was comfortable in soft sweaters and nice pants, he didn’t want to attract any more attention than he had to. Still, he was a pawn in their game, and he had to pick his battles.

Also carried in were the ingredients for another dish that would be vaguely Italian. Reese had decided on chicken piccata, another meal he knew how to cook that was influenced by his family’s roots. His dad never cooked and he rarely saw that side of his family, if ever. David Halston never made time for family, not even his own. His mother’s side, however, were completely overbearing and dramatic and had been colorful figures in his life since he was an infant. He’d spent a lot of his vacations with them in various parts of Europe, in Switzerland sometimes but mostly in Italy in their large home there. They split their time between the two countries, but often hosted guests in their home in the Mediterranean for various reasons, and Reese never minded being in Italy. It was the closest he got to Charlotte, who had spent the majority of her life in Paris, and later in London. She was the only one who spent any time with their dad’s parents, and even then, they never asked about Reese or tried to spend time with him. When she was in private school in Paris and Reese came, sometimes she would travel down to Italy to visit with him. Things were different now.

Elliot was laying on his bed and hadn’t made any effort to get up when Reese came in. As he was hanging up the suit in their closet, he told Elliot what he was making and asked if he wanted any. When he responded affirmatively, Reese wondered if he’d skipped the dinner as well or if it was a cultural thing where he needed to accept food to be polite. Either way, he dished out two plates, moving around the kitchen like a madman and working all of his frustration out, or at least trying to. He was exhausted by this point in the day, but the lingering feeling of frustration gnawed at him. In many areas of his life, no matter how hard he worked or how much he put himself on the line, he had zero control over anything.

As they sat down to eat, Reese found himself not uncomfortable with the silence but feeling like a certain level of small talk was required before he could ask to use Elliot for healing purposes again. He’d been cross checked in the face and his nose had been bleeding on and off for several hours. He’d had a few subtle touches between himself and Elliot here and there since it had happened, but it only subdued it for a time and then it began again, as he felt it starting to do now. Beyond that, his hand wasn’t fully healed, and he was sure he had plenty of bruises that wouldn’t heal unless he either got an injection from Lars or used whatever they’d done to him and Elliot to his own advantage.

“How was team dinner,” he asked casually, not caring to glance up from his food as he ate across from the Swede at the small table in their room.